


Queen of Love and Beauty

by trojanrubies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, I had feelings, Robert's Rebellion, also this is widly inaccurate, im sorry howland reed, lyanna has a thing about running away from difficult situations, nymeria is her horse cause i'm original, things HAPPENED, this is not fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trojanrubies/pseuds/trojanrubies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your Grace, would you be so kind as to teach me the joust?” She asked from under her eyelashes, eyes as bright as his.</p><p>“For what purpose my lady?” he inquired, leaning forward and dropping his voice to a husky whisper. </p><p>“Curiosity.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen of Love and Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> I had feelings and then this happened. Its unbeta'd do if you spot any mistakes let me know. I know I said I'd work on my J/B fic and I am I am! I kind of forgot about Howland Reed while I was writing and then it was finished and I remembered so I'm sorry but this is a magical fic where he doesn't exist. I'm sorry!
> 
> Everything belongs to our benevolent (ha that was irony there) overlord GRRM of course.

“Fine I’ll go riding now then,” she spat at her father, anger and stubbornness and a frustratingly girlish kind of hurt coiled in her belly as she slammed the door behind her.

Blinking back hot tears she ran to the stables, her dress catching on her ankles. She wanted to tear it off, to run back to her chambers and find her breeches. But Ned would be there, and he would be all reasonable and calm and right now she  _wanted_  to be angry. She wanted to scream and cry and throw something. Splashing through the muddy puddles in the stable yard she saddled Nymeria herself, watching the stable boys flee at her gaze. Nymeria whinnied and tossed her mane and Lyanna reached out and stroked her quietly as she jumped up, pulling her skirts up around her knees, her thin underclothes the only thing between her thighs and the saddle, her pale calves on visible to anyone who looked.

“Come on girl,” she whispered to the horse, “let’s go.”

The wind blew her hair across her face as she galloped out of the gate towards the wood. It was cold and she had no jacket and silk had never been designed to stop a northerly wind, she almost went back for a cloak but Nymeria was enjoying the speed and freedom almost as much as she was; so she only urged the horse forward and rode faster hooves clashing on the stone. The faster she rode the higher the dress blew up around her legs but the banner-man and guards looked away as she rode past, knowing this was something they were not supposed to see.

As she stormed out of the gate her muddied skirt flying behind her she caught a glance of pale hair and shining armour. Targaryen. But she didn’t care. _Princes and Kings and Lords, what do they matter_ she laughed to herself, a forbidden sob threatening to choke her.

She just drove her ankles into the flanks and yelled watching the hulking ruined castle disappear from the corner of her eye.

*

Her dress almost hit him and she flew past, and he almost crashed into Ser Barristan getting out of her path. He laughed in spite of himself. Lyanna Stark. He had heard plenty of stories about the wild northern princess but had never supposed them to be true. “Ser Barristan, I trust you can finish this without me?” He said to the knight as he walked back inside the gates, an idea already forming.

*

She ended up by a stream somewhere. Surrounded by a small glade overhung with dark tall boughs of trees she didn’t know the name of. It was quiet. She could no longer hear the clanging of armour or swords or the shouts of squires and chatters of boring vapid southern girls. Only the occasional whinny from Nymeria and the contrast gurgle of the stream. She pulled on the reigns and finally felt the wind stop pulling her hair and the silk slide back to cover her thighs as her toes touched the ground again. She was still wearing her fancy embroidered shoes; the septa would kill her if she ruined them. Toeing them off she held them up for inspection. Not so bad, a bit of mud from the stables, she tucked them into the saddle and gave the dress a quick once over. The hem was ruined, caked in mud and shit and torn along one side, almost all the way up to the waist seam. She was dead. Death by angry Septa.

Giving up on the dress she checked Nymeria was happy and sank down onto the grass. Who even cared if the dress got muddy anymore? It was past repair. Laying her head against the damp grass and trailing her bare toes in the long grass she stared up at the sky.

There was no weirwood in sight. No Sept. But she prayed anyway, laid out on the grass staring at the sky. She prayed that her father would understand, that her brothers would calm him, she prayed that Ned wouldn’t be too angry with her. She prayed it wouldn’t rain and she prayed for herself, that her husband wouldn’t beat her for going riding and wouldn’t force children on her and make her wear fancy dresses and care if she was pretty, she prayed that Robert would be as good for her as Ned promised he would be.

“Why lady Lyanna, I do believe you have a spot of mud on your gown.”

“Prince Rhaegar!” she jumped to her feet and pleaded with the gods that he hadn’t seen her storm out of the castle as she tried to manoeuvre the dress into some semblance of respectability.

“I am so sorry Your Grace, I should leave you.” I stuttered stepping back towards her horse as Rhaegar jumped off his own in one graceful movement.

“I was looking for you.”

“What” she spluttered, ‘sorry um I mean excuse-“

“I saw you leaving the castle.”

“I apologise, Your Grace, for my um clothing, I –”

“I understand, I’m the same sometimes,” he replied tying his mare next to her own and taking a step towards her, “it gets too much.”

“I’m sure Your Grace has far greater duties than I to attend to.” She said, stepping around him and walking backwards to the horses, her eyes fixed on the prince.

“Lyanna. Stay a while, don’t leave for my sake.” She glanced up to meet his eyes and he offered her a gentle smile and an outstretched hand.

“Alright.” She replied as he enveloped her small hand and led her to a spot by the stream.

“Will you be at the joust tomorrow?” he asked, the same charming smile in place as she tried to not draw attention to the slit up the side of her gown.

“Maybe.”

“Oh?”

“It’s um what I was disagreeing with father about,’ she confided. She kept her eyes fixed on where his hand rested on the ground and felt the flush rise in her cheeks as she spoke quickly. “I wished to go riding but he demanded my presence at the joust.”

“A shame, you’re a good rider. I’ve seen you in the yard; you ride far better than most of my squires.”

“Thank you Your Grace.” _What would Ned tell me to do now?_ She wondered. The prince’s hand rested close to her bare thigh, his smile was charming and his violet eyes were just as beautiful as all the songs claimed. _I should leave_ , she thought. _That is what Ned would tell me to do. I should leave before this goes too far._

“I should have you as a squire. I’m sure you could beat most of the knights in the joust too.” He continued, the southern accent sounding far better in his mouth than in any other.

“But I have never jousted.” She replied, glancing up at his face. He could teach her the joust, the sword. He could stand up to her father and he wouldn’t be able to do anything. With the prince on her side she wouldn’t have to do anything they told her. She could break off the engagement to Robert. She could go riding tomorrow. She could enter in the joust tomorrow and none of them would be able to stop her.

“It’s easy, for a good rider.” He continued, holding her gaze.

“Your Grace, would you be so kind as to teach me the joust?” she asked from under her eyelashes, eyes as bright as his.

“For what purpose my lady?” he inquired, leaning forward and dropping his voice to a husky whisper.

“Curiosity.”

*

Armour was heavy, as were shields and lances. But she was strong enough, just, and Nymeria rode well underneath her as they avoided blow after blow after blow, chips of broken lance raining down on her closed helm and too-wide chest plate. The crowd cheered and laughed as she unhorsed knight after knight and Ned grew more suspicious with every pass of the mysterious newcomer. The Prince had already ridden and Robert wasn’t competing either so they were the only men sat on the covered wooden platform to cheer the stranger. Rhaegar laughed harder and harder with each crash of armour and Robert just gwarffed and drank more wine declaring it jolly good sport and yelling that the stranger should show his face. Ned wanted to tell Robert his suspicions but feared he would only tell his father, or Jon Arrun and then they were all in trouble. He just shut his eyes and prayed to the gods to keep her safe as she rode at them lance shaking, shield steady.

The Knight of the Laughing Tree, so named for the symbol on his shield, won the first day of joust. Yet did not stay at the field to await his prize instead he simply rode off, after winning against one final lord. As he rode off towards the stables Prince Rheagar bid the lords and ladies farewell and ran after him, a smile painted on his chiselled face.

*

She kept on riding past the stable and instead trotted out of the gate, again headed for the glade where she had agreed to meet the Prince, who would smuggle the armour and shield back to the castle, claiming the mysterious knight had vanished and left only his arms and shield.

“Lyanna!” he cried behind her as she reached the glade. They both pulled their horses to a halt and jumped from the saddles. She was sweaty and tired but she ran to him anyway, throwing her helm to the ground.

“We did it!” she cried, as he pulled her to him and swung her round.

“ _You_ did it! Could have fooled me, you were perfect!”

“I couldn’t have done it without your help my lord!” she said feet finding the floor again as her cheeks flushed pink.

“Did you see Lord Frey’s face when he lost? I thought he was going to come and tear the helm off you, declare you a wizard or something.”

“Some men can’t take losing.”

“And not to a girl either.”

“Would you my lord?” she asked, undoing the straps on her gauntlet.

“What?”

“Take losing to a girl?” She paused in undoing the strap and caught his gaze, forbidding him from looking away.

“I’d never have to.”

“Are you sure my lord? You haven’t jousted against me.” Her smile danced across her face as he looked down at her, mouth quirking at her cheek. He was always treated with such respect, those around him ruled by manners and fear, even Elia, sometimes. But not her.

“No I haven’t, have I?” he asked, stepping forward and undoing the strap of her other gauntlet. “Maybe I’ll have to give it a go.”

“Maybe you will,” she breathed as he stood over her, releasing her hand from the armour and dropping the gauntlet to the floor. Her hand was warm in his, and he was close. _Too close_. She knew that, she knew how dangerous this was. _He has a wife_ she told herself. _I am betrothed_. She should leave. _Oh by the gods I want to stay_. _Would it be so bad_? she wondered, if she succumbed to her desires. _Yes. It would_. There was no honour in being a whore, even to a prince. “I should go Your Grace.” She said, stepping away from him and gathering up the discarded armour. “I need to get rid of this and go back to the tower and change.”

“Of course, let me help you with that.”

“No thank you, Your Grace.”  She shoved the arms into the saddle bag and jumped up unaided. “Goodbye Your Grace.

“Will you be at the feast tonight?” he called after her, but she didn’t stop to reply.

*

Almost as soon as she pulled herself out of the ill fitting armour and into a boring green silk dress Ned started hammering in her door.

“Lyanna! Let me in; don’t think I don’t know where you were today!” he cried, too loud for the small tower.

She pulled open the door and before he was even inside she said, “Ned I’m sorry alright.”

“Did the prince talk you into it?” he asked making sure the door was closed. “Because Lyanna if you had been hurt.” He paused and lowered his voice holding her to him, “I don’t care if he is the prince he shouldn’t have-”

“It was  _my_  idea Ned, not his.”

“But he knew.” Ned insisted, as she sat on the bed and drew her knees up to her chest.

“Yes.”

“How?” He asked sitting beside her.

“I asked him to help me.”

“Lyanna! If father finds out!”

“He won’t, not unless you tell him.” She said afraid of her father’s temper. Her father was honourable and he was good, but he would not stand being lied to. “Please Ned I beg of you.”

“I won’t. I should, but I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful alright.”

“Ned nothing happened,” she said, desperately trying to make her brother understand that she was good at the joust; that she had never been in any danger.  “I didn’t get hurt, just a few bruises and I’m not going to joust again.” She’d already decided that, to joust she would need Prince Rhaegar’s help and she had no intention of being alone with him again. “It’s the final tomorrow and there’s no way I could get away with it. I’m safe.”

“That’s not what I-”

“Stop worrying, I’m fine, see?”

“Fine,” he agreed. “When you’re dressed Robert wished to escort you to dinner.” He said standing at the door.

“Of course.” She smiled, as large and fake as she knew how. “Well tell my _darling_ betrothed he can wait for me, I’ll be down when I’m ready.” She spat, in no mood to play pretty and charming for Robert’s sake. _Rheagar doesn’t care how I dress._

“Lyanna” he reprimanded.

“What? I don’t like havening to play the perfect little lady for him.” She spat. _A prince wanted to kiss me today, brother,_ she thought. _Why should I settle for a rude, fat, Baratheon._

“He’s my best friend Lyanna.” Ned said. And there was something sad in his eyes. Like he really truly wanted this to work. Like he thought it could, if only she would let it. _He knows Robert better than I. Maybe there is more to him,_ she hoped there was.

“I know,” she replied, giving him a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s why I try. I’ll be ready in a moment, go and tell him I’m on my way? Thank you.”

*

The banquet was long, and boring. And as much as she wanted to enjoy Robert’s company she couldn’t. She spent the evening joking with Benjen mostly, and drinking too much wine. The music was good, and the minstrels played well. The royal table looked merry, even princess Elia looked happy. She was seated next to her husband and early in the evening their children were sat there too. Half had his pale hair and the others her dark silky tresses, but they all had the bright Targarean eyes. They were a family, and no matter how much Lyanna willed it, not once did the Prince look up and meet her gaze. He made a good father, a good husband, a good prince and she had no right to want to take that from him.

When the King rose to leave the whole hall rose and wished him good night. Elia and the children left then too, although Benjen begged to stay and their father grudgingly let him. It was then, in the dark smoky hall that the Prince quieted the music and pulled out a lute of his own. Alone at the top table he sang a ballad. She didn’t know it, later she was told it was the tale of Ser Galladon, the knight from Tarth who they say wooed the Maid herself. It was beautiful regardless, and his accent, soft and warm, made her dream of things she couldn’t have. Only then, at the end of the song, the hall silent every eye upon him, did he finally look at her.

She felt a tear slide down her cheek and their eyes met and she reached up to brush it away as the hall broke into applause and he looked away.

“Now I will give control of the music back to those far more talented than I,” he said giving a small bow and wave to the gallery as the applause went on

But all she heard was Benjen as he laughed, “Gods Lyanna, are you _crying_?” he giggled loudly and she just grabbed her goblet and emptied it over his head before running from the hall without a word to anyone.

*

The rose pricked her thumb as she took it from his outstretched hand. It smelled sweet, but bitter too and the colour wasn’t right. The winter roses at home were a paler blue; this was too bright, too harsh. Wrong in a thousand different ways.

The whole ground held their breath, as though she might not accept it; demand he give the flower to his wife. Lyanna ached to look at her, to see what expression there was on that beautiful Dornish face.

“Thank you Your Grace.”

 *

As soon as they were back in their tower out of sight of the prying eyes of the seven Kingdoms her father slammed the door and rounded on her. “Lyanna Stark if you have been dishonouring yourself-”

“Father I haven’t I swear father please I would never.” She cried, because it was true. She was a Stark she understood honour. She had had the chance to his whore and she hadn’t taken it.

“Lyanna child, do you realise how – do you realise what this means?” he father said. He was no longer shouting but his tone still frightened her, like she had lost something she didn’t even know she had.

“No?” _What is he talking about?_ She thought. _I’m not his whore; they can’t think I’m his whore._ “He just gave me a rose, it doesn’t  _mean_  anything!”

“He just crowned you the queen of love and beauty over his own wife!” Lyanne swallowed. _So?_ She wanted to scream. _He was stupid;_ _he’s just a stupid Prince who thinks his actions don’t have consequences. It’s not my fault. Nothing happened so why should it matter!_

From the bottom of the stairs came an unmistakeable bellow, “where is she?” Robert cried lous enough to be heard on the other side of even this castle.

“Robert please stop she hadn’t done anything-” Ned placed a hand on his friend’s chest as he barrelled up the stairs towards her chamber. Her father closed his eyes for a moment and stormed out of her chamber, past Ned and Robert on the stairs.

“Where is Lyanna,” Robert yelled as he passed, and then at Ned when he was gone. Lyanna sighed and emerged from her chamber to the sight of her red-faced betrothed “if that stuck up blond piece of shit has laid a hand on her-”

“My lord.” She said, and he immediately looked up, pushing past Ned.

“Has he touched you, looked at you, laid a hand-”

“No my lord, it was a simple kindness, I am sure of it, nothing more.” She said in the polite, gentle tone she always had to use with Robert, the one her Septa’s had taught her.

“You are  _my_  betrothed, mine.” He spat face like a boar. He looks like his sigil, she thought, and had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing. “If he touched you I would kill him.”

“How gallant my lord.”

*

“Lyanna.”

“Ned, come in.”

“I heard what you told Robert. Do you swear to me it’s true, you have not – “

“Nothing has happened between Prince Rhaegar and I Ned. Nothing.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

*

The mad king was so called for a reason, but sometimes his son forgot.

“Why did you dishonour our house so?” He drawled, almost inaudible.

“I did nothing father”

“Do not see the stark girl again.” He said, his voice lilted up and down up and down, like he couldn’t control it.  “If your wife disgusts you so then go and find a brothel somewhere, but do  _not_  bring the Stark girl to court, do not flaunt your desires and sins where the seven kingdoms can see.” In the mouth of another man his words would be cautionary; Rhaegar could imagine Tywin Lannister saying these words as a warning, or advice. In his father’s hissing drawl they sounded like a threat, against himself, his wife his children, Lyanna. “Fuck as many mewling tavern girls as you like. But do it quietly. If I hear a word about you and Lyanna Stark again there will be consequences.” Then his father giggled and turned to face his son and heir. _Is this what the Stranger looks like?_

Rheagar swallowed. “Yes Father.”


End file.
